This is How We Live
by pacific.coast
Summary: First he found himself standing at the alter with Ginny, but strange things happened and so the next hour, he and Hermione was thrown through time and space to 1977. Will he be able to change this new world? Possibly save it?
1. chapter one

_T.T My first real story (the Aeneid totally did not count)! Do I need a disclaimer 'cause JK Rowling wrote Harry Potter? It's so short! I hope some people like it... at least two (is that a bit to many?)... Tah. Well, I've got homework to do.  
_

Chapter One

The Final Battle could only be described as chaotic. The number of souls who died will never be known. There were weepy witches who were devoted to the task of giving each and everyone who left the world a proper burial, whether he was for or against Voldemort, but it was pointless. They may have counted the majority of organisms from the species _homo sapien_, but they missed the giants and centaurs, and the lone unicorn who foolishly but bravely stuck out her head from among her leafy den to look out, only to be hit by a vicious cutting curse.

For a few weeks after the battle, lines of mourners came and went. Bringing the body enclosed in its hard wooden caskets—whether it was Brazilian teak or American redwood—for one last visit to Hogwarts before the entire procession apparated to its final resting place.

This was the view the people who worked tirelessly on rebuilding various parts of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry saw. From a single worker's lofty position on the roof of the West Tower, she could see the Forbidden Forest extending for miles, the village buildings of Hogsmeade, the lake with its curious rippling effect, and—on the skinny road (built for carriages and people but not cars) leading up to castle—a thin parade of people who walked slowly up.

But that was a few months ago. May or June, right? Fast-forwards to mid August.

Harry Potter was in a butter-yellow dressing room lit by the windows framed by lacey white wisps called curtains. There was a closet with its bright washed door thrown wide open. Inside laid the lair of a mess of suits and dresses hang in plastic wraps. On the red velvet chair beside the eighteen-year-old hero was a well pressed robe—expensive by the look of its silky cloth and elaborate by the look of its embroideries.

A silver band lay on a plush cushion. The simple ring was decorated by a small circlet of flat black stones. Several of these gems still had the engraved design of some previous jewel. Whenever he studied the ring closely, Harry would vividly remember the night of Voldemort's defeat and wish longingly for solid and breathing copies of the ghostly figures that had appeared that night and pushed Harry on until victory. He had dropped the original ring, yes, and although he swore to keep it hidden from mankind, he could not resist the temptation to spend a whole week's worth of night hours to comb the forest looking for the heavy set ring. Harry wanted no one else to have it, and so he had a jeweler unknowingly split the magical gem into many pieces and embed the pieces into his current wedding band.

Ginny had planned most wedding while Harry was busy training on his own (for who knows what!) Thus the light gold of Harry's wedding robes faded slightly in comparison to his bronzed complexion—though it was a great color to complement Ginny's hair—and the deep red of the other accessories were just a tad bit too bold for Harry's liking. All in all, the color choices weren't too bad. The location, at a quiet but heavily visited hotel on a serene lake out in the country, was suitable. The guest list was slightly large (the Weasley clan numbered as much as Gryffindor's house population)… Lilies, though a nice and caring touch, were slightly off for a wedding… And Harry wasn't quite sure about the snails on the menu.

Everything was set, everything was prettified, something was wrong.

As Harry tugged his arm through the first silky sleeve of his robe, a woman rushed in the room, stomping along as she ranted.

"Harry James Potter! Do you know what time it is? It's almost four in the afternoon, high time to get your tush out the door 'cause Ginny will freak out when I tell her that you're still dressing…" Hermione began, but then broke off as she realized Harry was only dressed in a light pair of low slung trousers, white and almost see-through near the top where Harry's green boxers with polka-dots were easily visible. She blushed bright red and averted her eyes to Harry's face, bypassing his chest rippling with muscle.

Harry continued slowly tugging on the second sleeve with a roll of his eyes. "Hermione," he said, "you really need to work on your blushing habits. What will the others think?" Harry grimaced and finished off the last of his buttons. Once he was married, he didn't need people such as the paparazzi to follow his every move and write down every lie. Although Hermione did look quite beautiful when she blushed, when her eyes shined as she got furious, when she put her hair up in a bun and allowed several tendrils to snake their way down her neck. Heck, Harry would answer to anyone that Hermione was stunning if anyone asked—not that anyone would.

But that wasn't the attitude he needed at that moment, wasn't it? Hermione shouldn't be beautiful to him right then and there; Ginny (once Harry sees her) was to be the only girl on his mind.

"Well," Hermione began.

"Look, I'm sort of stressed right now. Don't start advertising pain killers, it's my wedding, what would anyone expect? Just please don't state berating me. I'm going, I'm going." And with that, Harry left in a hurry, hiding his confusion. Was something wrong with him?

He weaved through the chests and boxes that lined the hidden hallway, edging around preoccupied maids, nearly tripping over house elves in his unsuccessful attempt to Ginny's rooms. Blast wizarding tradition, he thought, keeping the bride and groom apart until the ceremony from a whole week before. He needed some love. But Mrs. Weasley grinned happily as she turned him away from the mahogany door.

"So sorry Harry dear, but you just can't go in. You don't want bad luck, do you?" she said with a cheeky smile. "You'd better get going to the alter, the ceremony should start soon."

Groaning softly in annoyance, Harry swept away, down the stairs to the pavilion outside. The marble alter gleamed in the afternoon light. The maples trees stood still, dropping a leaf occasionally but rarely, and the thick grass glowed green (to much fertilizer Harry's muggle-garden-minded mind supplied). Doves flew leisurely hither and fro. Satin chairs were protected by charms to protect them from bird droppings. The Marriage Mage was there, the stone plate inscribed with runes was already seated on a wooded pedestal.

It was to this plate that Harry looked on hard. He and Ginny were to kiss while touching this plate and… and be married. Contrary to popular belief, the marriages were reversible, although it took a great deal of energy for when a couple was married, the runes took their magic and wounded them. It was a rather stupid form, idea, tradition, ritual, practice, custom, but it thoroughly expressed a couples' love.

Harry was totally against the idea, not that he had said anything to anyone about it yet. After the painful experiences with Voldemort's magic, Harry didn't want anyone or anything controlling him or his magic again. They were to keep their hands off him and possibly allow him to do the dirty work on them. It was an evil though, yes, but Harry believed that he deserved a little bit… or maybe a lot. He really needed a hug.

Standing there made him lose feeling in his toes, but that was why Harry did for the next twenty minutes, waiting for four o'clock (Hermione was lying about the time, again). In due time, the pavilion was flooded with people looking for spaces to sit. And as four o'clock came, the door of the hotel leading out into the pavilion was thrown wide open and the people quieted. Ginny, in her light gold dress—that shone mostly white—glided slowly up the pathway carpeted especially for the special occasion. Two rings bearers brought up the rear, bearing the Ginny's wedding ring and Harry's silver band that he had forgotten in his room. In moments, Ginny was standing next to him, smiling shyly. They turned to face each other.

The Marriage Mage began talking, "On this day…" but Harry tuned him out. Passively, he stared at Ginny's flushed face and noted how ugly her red cheeks and her red hair were when clashed. They should have given her a cooling charm. Whoever did her makeup was very unprofessional. And if the dress robes were pulled just a bit tighter around chest, the silk wouldn't have sagged that tiniest bit. Heck, the gel they used on her hair was too visible; there were prominent ridges that had became too stiff too early to fix. It wouldn't have made her perfect (no one is!), but at the very least the changes would dramatically be fore the better. Harry wouldn't gladly done the makeup job for her himself—and no, he isn't gay. He would do anything to help her be ready for the perfect guy…

Unintentionally, Harry tilted his head a hair to the right, as though he was examining Ginny (he was) and his lips lifted into a faint glimmer of a smile. Ginny grinned back at him. He went through the actions of putting the rings on their fingers. He wasn't paying any attention. It was all muscle memory.

The Marriage Mage cleared his throat and Harry looked up. Ginny looked at him funny, with a raised eyebrow that totally distorted her face. The audience was deadly silent; the Marriage Mage merely looked bored. Shuffling his single sheet of parchment to his other hand, the ancient wizard sighed.

"Mr. Harry James Potter," he began in a level voice, "do you take Miss Ginerva Molly Weasley as your wife?"

Merlin's socks. The few reporters that had snuck in through the light security were flashing away with their cameras. Several Quick-Quills were scribbling whatever disgusting thoughts people think nowadays. The wind blew slightly and the birds were chirping. Other wise, silence reigned. Harry tried to keep his head level, but he suspected that most people caught the desperate turning of his head. Desperate? Did he say desperate?

"Mr. Potter—"

Ron was going to kill him. All the Weasley brothers were going to kill him. He was going to be dead meat in less than three hours.

"I'm sorry." Harry cringed internally at his voice. So unsure of himself. "I can't." And with that, he hurried off the pavilion, rushing through the still silent audience members and over to the apparition point where he left a second later.

It was very lucky for Harry that he went so quickly because a split second after the small "pop" his apparating made, the entire wedding was thrown into an uproar. Half the Weasley clan began insulting Harry in their rash ways, jumping to the most absurd conclusions. They caused a general panic after one rather mental uncle on Arthur's mother's side that was thrice removed and thirteen years old from Denmark interpreted a random word in the English language that George Weasley had just exclaimed as a mortal insult and thus had set off a dozen fireworks— several that landed on the buffet tables. Chairs were overturned in the rush of excitement and most of the relatives were flushed and sweaty after running around the marble floor two minutes after Harry had left. Ginny and the Marriage Mage were left standing at the alter; Ginny in quiet surprise and the Marriage Mage in relative interest (he was picking at the dirt under his nails). Did anyone mention that the Daily Prophet was going to have a field day?

Hermione was one of the few who remained calm and she was one of the calmest of them. Sighing gently through her parted lips, she walked up to Ginny and gave the poor girl her condolences. Ginny stayed ridged through the motherly patting of her back. Giving the disorder one last look over from the apparration point, Hermione turned on her heel and silently disappeared. She was going to look for Harry.

_I got another one of those "TAKE A BREAK" pop-ups. I think I will... How did I do?_


	2. chapter two

I finally typed another chapter! I actually began this chapter right after I posted the first, but then we had finals, and I went on a trip, and then I had a summer class and I like to procrastinate. So it took awhile. But I thought about it every day! I swear! I couldn't forget. T.T

Because I typed a little here and a little there for the past two or so months, the tenses are really messed up, I think. Yeah... so... it's really too bad. Have fun reading and review!

Disclaimer: I love Harry Potter, but he ain't mine.

o

Chapter Two

The Burrow was devoid of people. But that was to be expected, right? All the Weasleys were at the wedding and surely no one else (except for maybe the ghoul) lived in the magically built house. Looking around the interior, Hermione found a wall to bang her head against. The thin wall creaked dangerously and a book fell off its self. She glared at the dent her head made. How did this house survive Fred and George?

Deciding that her knowledge wasn't worth losing, Hermione found a sofa crowded with a rainbow of ribbon to sit on. She sank into it and pushed back the lone chunk of curls that had fallen on her face.

She had first gone to Harry's flat in London, a beautiful place decorated especially on Hermione's advice. The walls were a light blue grey lined with simple white molding. The hardwood was a dark wood that resembled mahogany or cherry wood. Glass accents were scattered around the place. There was a soda-fridge in the family room stocked with Muggle fizzy drinks (Sprite, anyone?) and beer. Hermione thought that Harry's first choice was probably home. Sitting around having a glass of beer. Brooding. But she was wrong. The flat was empty of life; even Hedwig seemed to have gone on a hunting trip.

So she had then gone to Hogsmeade, Diagon Ally, and, and, so many other places she couldn't even list them.

This was so frustrating! Feeling that she better leave before everyone else returned, Hermione apparated back to her cozy flat.

o

Harry never thought he would be brave enough to have done that. He never was as brave as everyone thought he was. Even though he had been in Gryffindor, the Sorting Hat did say he would do well in Slytherin…

That's it; he had enough Firewhiskey to light up his day. Groggily, he dropped the single can of Firewhiskey into Hermione's beloved recycle bin. He had thrown previously thrown his robes onto the floor, kicked his shoes away (off they flew into the ceiling before crash landing beside the TV) and thus was spread out on the couch in only his pants. Hopefully, hopefully, Harry prayed, no one would see him like this. Sadly, everything seemed to go against him that day. Just as Harry slumped back against the cushion, a light "Pop" sounded from the entrance hall and the following noises—that sounded suspiciously like someone putting away their shoes—marked the disturber.

_Please don't let her see me_, Harry thought. _Let me blend into the wall. Let the Firewhiskey return back to its former place in the 'fridge. Let the smell of alcohol dissipate. _

But that wasn't to happen.

"Harry James Potter," came a shrieking sound. "What the bloody Merlin are you doing here? Here, of all places?"

"Aren't you an angel?" Came a slurred-sarcastic reply.

Hermione took a menacing step towards the couch and caught a whiff of alcohol. "You've been having a drink from my stash, haven't you?" the "angel" growled.

Harry bolted upright, swaying dizzily on the spot. Drops of the potent beer flung all over the place at the sudden movement. Some droplets landed on the couch, some on the coffee table, several on the hardwood floor, and I—the author—swear that one drop landed directly on the tip of Hermione's nose as she stood imposingly in the hallway with her hands on her hips. "Actually…"

Well, at that point, Hermione shrieked in surprise and jumped back a foot… lowered her eyes to somewhere away from Harry, shook her head liked she was having an argument, and like is was against her better judgment, locked eyes with Harry. From Harry's point of view, it was a very funny act. Especially since he knew exactly what Hermione was jumping around at.

"What?" Harry asked, just to humor his best friend.

Hermione pleaded with big doe eyes, "Can you please, pretty please, put on a shirt?"

Harry laughed uproariously, only stopping when his thin pants slipped on the leather couch and no matter what Harry did—flailing his arms, his legs, slapping the cushions—did not prevent him from falling off the seat. Dang, he had to remember that he had too much alcohol. Or was it too little?

Whatever it was, Hermione was the one giggling now. Harry huffing only helped whatever hilarity the book-worm saw. To keep himself entertained as his _dear_ friend laughed herself silly, Harry slid quietly along the floor to the mini-fridge, opening it even quieter and groped with one hand while keeping an eye on Hermione. 'Course, he just couldn't seem to find any Fire whiskey so he had to look. For just one tiny second, half a second, just long enough to see… that! The wonderful bottle of…

And then came a piercing sound through the apartment.

"Hermione," Harry called with his head still in the 'fridge over the subsiding noise, "are you making tea… oh no." As he turned around, dreading what was to come, Harry tried to hide the Firewhiskey bottle behind his back. Full around, he gave a full blown grin to Hermione's face… a face that just happened to be a mere few inches away.

They stared at each other. Hermione was overly mad at Harry for taking two entire bottles from her "secret" stash (how did he know it was there?) because now she had to buy some more. Harry, on the other hand, kept his hopes low at escaping Hermione's grasps unharmed. _Think Harry, what to do now?_

The next day, when Harry had some time to think things over, he would've readily agreed with anyone who told him that he did something really stupid that day. But all the same… What happen will happen.

So as Harry sat there grinning stupidly to a stony face, he came up with this _brilliant_ plan. As Hermione reached down to snatch the glass bottle out of Harry's hand, Harry reached up, pulled Hermione down, and gave her a kiss on the lips.

Cliché, I know, but at that exact same moment, Ginny and Ron opened the door as they had been searching for Hermione who had mysteriously disappeared after the disastrous wedding (even though Hermione had told Ginny that she was leaving).

"Harry!" Ginny shrieked, her hair bouncing from the impact of the sound.

"Hermione!" roared Ron. How dare Harry steal his girlfriend-to-be! How dare Harry cheat on Ginny. How… how could this have happened?

Harry and Hermione looked up from their twisted position on the floor. Harry had ended up under Hermione who was sitting partway on his lap in Harry's embrace. Curiously, Harry had been tugging off his Deathly Hallow turned Horcrux turned wedding ring and when he turned, his ringer slipped and spun the suddenly loose ring before it fell off his finger and was caught by his other hand.

As Harry and Hermione stared at the brother and sister in unmasked horror, a bright light surrounded the embracing couple before they disappeared.

_For the love of… Lily…_ was the second to last thought of Harry's before the pull of the light overtook him (his last thought was _Harry, how could you! Using your mother name in vain, shame on you… But it was nice alliteration… right?_)

o

The light slowly faded away, leaving Harry and Hermione in another place.

Underneath them was a smooth stone floor; gray but clean. Around them drifted a thick flog, parting here and there, showing various snippets of color. The air around was thick with a low murmur. Hermione listened very hard and thought she heard a violin, screaming, and a softly whispered "I love you."

The fog parted, and Hermione caught a glimpse of Harry. "Harry," she called, running to his side. He seemed to be breathing evenly. "How are you?"

Harry gave a groan of affirmative, now very much under the effects of alcohol (he won't be talking much in the rest of this chapter but he'll listen and remember everything) when suddenly, another voice broke through the light.

"He's going to be fine. See? He's paying attention to me too! Just like you." The feminine voice giggled.

"Who are you?" asked Harry, trying to peer through the damn annoying fog—at least in Hermione's opinion.

"I," the person suddenly spun into view, "am Atalanta—"

"From the Greek myths?" Interrupted Hermione, sizing up the slender, dark-haired person who was currently bouncing towards them.

Atalanta looked at her incredulously, "No. I was just a person who was sent to inform you that Mr. Harry James Potter decided to spin the Deathly Hallow three times with a thought in mind. However, because the stone had been broken up, something very strange happened. As some select few people know, there are many dimensions in the… universe as we call it. Many worlds. Magic has decreed that you two are to be sent to a different dimension, far different from the one you have just left. First of all, there are no Deathly Hallows, so there is no way back. Second, there are no Horcruxes either, mostly because Horcruxes were a project used in only a few worlds due to a big conference of Fates. However, I do believe that there are is a Voldemort… who has some other method of outliving death? I'm not quite sure, I wasn't listening very well when I was informed of what to tell you. And also, most people are the same, some are different. This ain't traveling back in time, so you can _change _anything you want, though it wouldn't be called changing. And you can be seen! I suggest you guys understand what's really going on and not just trust what you guys remember is history before you act. I just happened to be named Atalanta. I think my mum thought Atlantis was a beautiful place but didn't want to bluntly shove in everyone's face that she wanted me to be… beautiful…"

Silence.

"Sure… Atalanta," stuttered Harry, "whatever you say."

Atalanta smile serenely, "Well, you'll be dropped off somewhere and then you can start a new life, k?"

Harry started to nod, but Hermione butted in. "You mean we won't have a choice in this? We cant decide whether we really want this? What if we don't want to leave our friends, our _families_? What if we already have a life we like? Do you even care what _we think_?"

Another stare. "I'm sorry, but the stone was turned and rules are rules. I thought you would know that best, Hermione. Magic can only do what it can. Nothing is impossible, yes, but can you achieve that? I'm sure you can try and find a way back to your home world. But you won't know where you'll arrive, even what date—unless your 'spell' or 'potion' is so great."

It Hermione's time to stare. "Is there absolutely nothing we can do?" she squeaked. Harry sighed and but a comforting hand on Hermione's shoulder.

"You can try… That's all I know." Atalanta looked so crestfallen. But then she cheered up. "I think I can do this, no one said I can't."

The girl spun around, again. But this time, she raised her arms, beckoning something from the fog, an immense power that overwhelmed Hermione as soon as she felt it come. Atalanta's skit picked up, dancing around the stone floor, a wind came. There was more light. That pained Hermione's eyes. It was bright. But then came a muted light. A thick, smooth, velvety, look that warmed their souls, brought energy and power.

The show died down.

Hermione opened her eyes, "What was that?"

Atalanta's eyes sparkled mischievously. "You'll find out in good time." But as much as her eyes had sparkled, the glimmer quickly died down. The spirit-girl crouched down and lowered her voice so that only the three of them could hear, so the sounds wouldn't escape more into the fog. "Hermione and Harry, remember this, and remind each other whenever needed, _to follow your heart_. Don't hold onto the past in the place. It is a new life."

With that said and done, Atalanta stood back up, brushing the non-existent dust from her skirt and smoothing the wrinkles. Softly, reverently, she whispered a few last words. "It's time for you two to move on. Have fun, Harry Potter. Hermione Granger."

The fog swallowed the spirit-girl and then consumed the couple.

o


End file.
